


Post-it Notes

by SandwichesYumYum



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Complete, F/M, For RoseHeart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandwichesYumYum/pseuds/SandwichesYumYum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth. A fic challenge response. My chosen phrase was 'Post-it Notes'. Yup, my naming tekkers of amaze strike again! Posted for RoseHeart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Post-it Notes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHeart/gifts).



> This fic is made of nothing but silliness, and is a re-expansion of an equally silly response to a small fic challenge at the new Jaime and Brienne board.
> 
> I want to gift this to RoseHeart, as I was uncertain about it, but she loved the little version and she deserves nice things. Consider this a timely hug of sorts, my dear friend.
> 
> Thanks to Nurdles, who stepped in at the last moment like an awesome superhero dudette, to tell me where heatwave induced nonsense was occurring.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own it not.

POST-IT NOTES

 

“No.”

She’ll be damned if she’s going to expose herself to yet more ridicule, to barbs flung from the sharp tongues of his family. Whether he thinks he needs moral support or not, he’ll have to walk into the lions’ den alone.

_It was bad enough last time._

Brienne almost shudders at the memory of finely balanced smiles on haughty faces, twitching ever so slightly into disdain at the sight of her. Jaime’s aunt had been one of the more pleasant of them, and even she had called Brienne ‘peculiar’. And that was just after they'd arrived.

 _“No,”_ she says again, more firmly this time, as he leans forward in his chair and opens his mouth to speak, green eyes pleading with her. Best to forestall him. She knows better than to let Jaime talk too much. That’s how she’d ended up standing awkwardly in her best dress the year before, her _cheap_ dress, as Cersei had been so kind to inform her, whilst Brienne herself simply tried, and failed, to avoid becoming another wounded bystander in the bitter breakdown of their hidden relationship.

With Tyrion feigning dire illness to ensure his absence from what he'd told her was always a 'waking nightmare', Brienne had been the only one there to truly know the full reason for the animosity which had erupted between brother and sister. Yet that hadn't prevented many of those present falling victim to their chilly exchanges. Guests had watched, a strange admixture of appalled and enthralled, as all and sundry were put to the verbal sword.

Their aunt had merely found being called a ‘fat, interfering cow’ by her niece hilarious, and Jaime’s description of Cersei’s prospective new husband brought sharply indrawn breaths about the room. But it was Brienne, having been the unexpected plus one to pitch up with Jaime, who came under fire the most. Cersei hadn’t held back, and her words on Brienne’s physical state and her apparent slowness of mind, shown all too well by her ability to only gape in response, her skin aflame, still hurt today.

She comes back to the here and now to find Jaime looking at her desperately. Brienne knows meeting his sister again will be hard for him. Of course she does. Many a night he has slept the unsettled sleep of the deeply unhappy on her sofa, having talked to her for hours of that which he’d lost. And she’ll pick up the pieces Cersei will inevitably leave behind. _Again._ But she doesn’t want to repeat the mistake of putting herself in a position to be humiliated by any member of his family, just so they can hurt Jaime.

Suddenly tired of this now unspoken conversation and annoyed with herself, worried that she may begin to weaken even in the face of his silence, Brienne decides to take action. She stands and marches around her desk, grabbing the back of his office chair and wheeling him towards the door.

Jaime tips his head back to look plaintively up at her, his soft hair resting on her fingers, yet he finds it hard to maintain his kicked puppy exterior as one of the castors start to squeal loudly in protest. They both wince before nearly smiling at one another.

_Nearly._

Brienne knows from experience that one of his smiles can be costlier than all of his most wretched pouting and cutting words, so she quickly opens the door and pushes him out into the small reception area.

He rolls into the glass walled outer room with a long squeak of unhappy metal and Jaime slowly spins on his seat, coming to a rest facing her, near Pod’s desk. As for her long-suffering assistant, he is frozen in place by the ugly sound, his mug unmoving partway to his mouth.

“Could I please have some lemon tea, Pod?” Brienne asks pleasantly.

Pod gently puts his mug down and looks between them wearily, rolling his eyes. She can see the lad already forming some words of wisdom to impart later. Even if she has never spoken of them, he knows of her feelings for Jaime, and is convinced that they are returned. And although he is generally quite shy, he never is in offering his views on her reticence in this, to her chagrin. Brienne has no time for the romantic notions of the young, however much she wishes for them to be true, so she beats a hasty retreat into her office and sits back at her desk, her head dropping to the hard surface with a light thump.

She can hear their muffled chatter just outside and it isn’t long before, inevitably, Jaime comes back in, carrying a steaming cup of warm tea in one hand, and dragging his complaining chair with the other. Having placed the mug down, he settles himself back onto his seat.

And now he just stares at her, as she rises and sips at her drink. Brienne ticks off his various methods to convince her to change her mind, in the order that Jaime has deployed them since they met in the little newsagents down the street, she is sure not accidentally, an hour past.

_Brash confidence. Humour. Insults. Wheedling. Trotting out the old ‘a Lannister always pays his debts’ chestnut, for all of the chance that ever has of working. Begging, including a momentary threat to fall to his knees in the lobby. Silence. And now this._

This is his most dangerous tactic of all. He is simply Jaime now. Her friend, asking for a favour. For her _help._ Brienne begins to buckle.

_Damn you, Jaime._

Her phone rings and she sighs with relief, turning her computer on and answering the call. She opens a drawer and fumbles about for a pen before reaching across her desk for the block of Post-It notes she keeps there. She finds long fingers grasping it as she speaks to Catelyn Stark about a change to the upcoming benefit for those injured in the war. "The musicians? They're insisting on playing it? I agree. 'The Rains of Castamere' is a terrible song."

Brienne keeps her voice as level as she can, even if she is furiously trying to pry the yellow pad from Jaime's grip. She glares at him and tugs viciously until it splits in two. She pulls the cap from her pen with her teeth, leaning forward to let it drop onto the desk. “Well, if you fetch your list, Mrs Stark...”

Brienne doesn't look up and she can almost feel Jaime’s eyes boring into her, but her determination is renewed and this time she won’t budge on the matter. She gets some of the black marker on the side of her little finger when she stiffly writes the words 'not interested' on a note and sticks it to her forehead with a resounding slap.

Perhaps a minute passes as she waits and Brienne begins to feel foolish, sitting with her gaze pinned to the desk like a naughty child being told off, so she takes a deep breath and straightens up in her seat.

What she sees wounds her.

Jaime, having clearly given up on the idea of dragging her unwilling hide to another family gathering, is looking at her, with her mussed hair and ugly face and paper stuck to her, with open fondness. 

_The fondness of a friend._

And that they certainly are, even if they began as nothing of the sort.

Catelyn Stark had been incensed with her son when he'd informed her that he'd employed Jaime. Robb, still adjusting to the sudden need to take his late father's place and wanting to make his mark, considered his brokering a favourable contract with the eldest son of Tywin Lannister an enormous coup, and a public snub to the all powerful LannCorp to boot. But the Stark matriarch's distrust of the Lannister name ran deep, particularly as she was convinced that the machinations of the much larger company had slipped her husband into his early grave.

And it had turned out that as favourable as the terms of his employment were for the Starks, there were safeguards for the incoming lion too. So it had been that, at Catelyn's behest, he became Brienne's charge, if for no other reason than for her to find a reason, _any_ reason to dismiss him.

He had given her none, for all that he was an arrogant shit with a mouth far too clever for his own good. He'd worked diligently, clearly able to apply himself, working hard to gain a begrudging trust and eventually, a place as Brienne’s equal. Nonetheless, there had been the better part of a year of insults flung back and forth, particularly during that disastrous trip to King's Landing, when the truth finally came out. Jaime Lannister had no interest in furthering his father's aims. Too many ills had driven him from his family and he would take his new position seriously. So he did.

Brienne had come to know that their differences mattered little. That they were the same in so many of the ways that counted.

And by then she was in too deep.

An old love, a childish love was watered down in her, thinned to something she could look back on with wry amusement, calling herself a idiot for ever believing in it. In her thoughts, dark hair grew light and a male form leaner in the dead of night, though she fought it as best she could.

Brienne loves him and how it bites into her, knowing that they’ll never be anything more than they are.

She makes the hurt short. She pushes it aside, yet again, when Mrs Stark finally comes back to her and begins to propose various replacement bands. The first few seem fine, if they can book any of them, and Brienne writes them down, but then there is an oddity. “Did Arya suggest Slaves to Meereen?” she asks, pausing as Catelyn unsurprisingly confirms the source of the choice. She hears Jaime chuckle as she continues. “I don’t think that kind of electric guitar solo would be suitable for a black tie event.”

The rest of the list is more fitting, and Brienne reassures her employer she'll resolve the issue as soon as she can.

The call ends and she crosses out a couple of the less promising groups, only then turning her attention back to Jaime.

Her heart begins to thud in her ears when she looks at him.

He is sitting as casually as he ever does, all long limbs folded gracefully and fingers tapping out an uneven, staccato beat on a plastic armrest. Yet there is a sudden intensity in him that makes the air vibrate between them. He seems trusting, yet fearful. Curious. _And something else_.

Only then does she notice it.

Scrawled almost illegibly on primrose paper, partly obscured beneath a wave of golden hair, is one word which changes everything.

_Interested._


End file.
